


Stephanie's Life in LA

by StephanieDerekCallen



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles, Stephanie Plum - Janet Evanovich
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 07:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2420414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StephanieDerekCallen/pseuds/StephanieDerekCallen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I do not own anything.</p><p>http://www.polyvore.com/stephanie_gracies_first_outfit/set?id=136915287</p><p>http://www.polyvore.com/gracies_second_outfit/set?id=136915331</p><p>http://www.polyvore.com/gracies_third_outfit/set?id=136915417</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own anything.
> 
> http://www.polyvore.com/stephanie_gracies_first_outfit/set?id=136915287
> 
> http://www.polyvore.com/gracies_second_outfit/set?id=136915331
> 
> http://www.polyvore.com/gracies_third_outfit/set?id=136915417

I am Stephanie Plum or at least that is one of the alias's I made a while back when I was in the Navy. My real name is Grace Williams. I am visiting my god mother Hetty Lange. I dated a man all through high school, and when I was in the Navy. We got engaged when I stopped working for the Navy. We worked at the CIA together for 2 years. We broke up when he left without word. I have no idea where he is. I was in the Navy from when I was 18 to 22. I was a CIA agent for 5 years. I am the highest belt you can get in judo, karate, hapkido, wushu, eskrima, jiu-jitsu, Brazilian jui-jitsu, I am very skilled in kickboxing, aikido, wing chun, jeet kune do, western boxing, keysi fighting method, krav maga, and firearms. I am an accomplished lip reader and skilled in forensics and morse-code. I can speak Italian, Russian, Spanish, German, French, Persian, Portuguese, Hebrew, Estonian, Chinese, Sinhalese, Turkish, Swedish, Japanese, Danish, Korean, Arabic, Farsi, Romanian, Polish, Mexican Spanish, Czech, Chechen, Mandarin, Hungarian, and Pashto. I have a condition called hyperthymesia. That is where you can remember everyday of your life in perfect detail and public events. I can read 20,000 words per minute. During my service in the SEALs, I had dealings with the Kidon unit of Mossad. While in the Navy, I served in Bosnia, Afghanistan, and Iraq. While on a mission in Bosnia, me and another member of my squad Dickerson were captured and tortured before being buried alive. Prior to his burial Dickerson was shot and died of his wound during captivity. I was ultimately rescued by other members of the team. On two separate occasions My life was saved by Leroy Jethro Gibbs once in Serbia and once in Russia. I sometimes have a gruff, no nonsense temperament. I can do anything and everything with computers. I am wearing a black crop top, a black leather jacket, black skinny jeans, black strappy stilettos, and aviators. I have on silver glitter smoky eye eye shadow, and red lipstick. I just finished a mission in Zurich and I am now a ex-CIA agent. I am in LA visiting my god mother. I stop at Chick Fil A on my way. I get a kids order of chicken nuggets, fries, cinnamon apple sauce, and a apple juice. I pull up outside her work building. It is a condemned building. I get out of my Lamborghini and go in. I see a man that looks familiar and see it is Callen. I came here a lot when I was a teenager. I open a secret hallway and run in. I walk down the hallway and come out in the bullpen. Callen, Hetty, and 2 other men are there.

 

"Damn it!" I yell.

 

Everyone even Hetty jumps because they didn't know I was there.

 

"Gracie, how did you get in here?" Hetty asks.

 

"I practically grew up here. I know the entire layout of the building," I say purposely not looking at Callen.

 

"Gracie?" Callen asks.

 

"Don't talk to me," I hiss.

 

"Gracie, we need to talk," he says.

 

"No, we got engaged and you left without a word for a job offer," I say.

 

I sit down and take a big bite of my hamburger. Callen sits on the other end of the couch. I hold out the fries to him. He gives me a questioning look.

 

"Sorry, old bad habit," I say.

 

 I start humming Five Little Monkeys. Shaking my head. I notice Callen smiling and his team watching us. I bust into song.

 

"Five little monkeys jumping on the bed  
One fell off and bumped his head  
Mama called the doctor,  
And the doctor said  
No more monkeys jumping on the bed  
  
Four little monkeys jumping on the bed  
One fell off and bumped his head  
Mama called the doctor  
And the doctor said,  
No more monkeys jumping on the bed  
  
Three little monkeys jumping on the bed  
One fell off and bumped his head  
Mama called the doctor  
And the doctor said,  
No more monkeys jumping on the bed  
  
Two little monkeys jumping on the bed  
One fell off and bumped his head  
Mama called the doctor  
And the doctor said,  
No more monkeys jumping on the bed  
  
One little monkey jumping on the bed  
One fell off and bumped his head  
Mama called the doctor  
And the doctor said,  
Put those monkeys right to bed," I sing.

 

A few minutes later my old friend Kensi comes in. She has her daughter Gracie. She named her after me. Gracie is screaming and crying. I take her and Kensi falls onto the couch. I slightly bounce and sing.

 

"Twinkle, twinkle, little star  
How I wonder what you are  
Up above the world so high  
Like a diamond in the sky  
Twinkle, twinkle little star  
How I wonder what you are  
  
When the blazing sun is gone  
When he nothing shines upon  
Then you show your little light  
Twinkle, twinkle, all the night  
Twinkle, twinkle, little star  
How I wonder what you are," I sing softly stroking her hair and feeding her.

 

 She falls right to sleep. I give her back to Kensi and finish eating. A few minutes later a skinny brunette woman comes in and kisses Callen. My phone rings and it is Callen's step mom Susan. I stayed in touch with his family.

 

"Hey, Susan," I answer.

 

I notice a ring on the woman's finger.

 

"Where are you?" she asks.

 

"I am in La visiting my god mother," I say.

 

"We are in La visiting Callen. Will you meet us tonight at the Wood Ranch BBQ & Grill?" she asks.

 

"Who's going to be there?" I ask.

 

"David, Callen, his fiancé Jessica, and me," she says.

 

"I am sorry. I can't. Tell David I will talk as soon as I can. I love you. Bye," I say and hang up.

 

"Was that my step mom?" Callen asks.

 

"Yes, we stayed in touch," I say.

 

I go out and grab a duffle bag out of my car. I go in and to the gym. I change and go over to the punching bag. I bunch and kick it. I see Kensi, Callen, Jessica, Sam, and Deeks come in. I have a flashback to a night about a month after he left. I kick harder tears falling.

 

(Flashbacks = Italics)

 

_Kensi moved in when I found out I was pregnant after Callen left. I was laying in bed and I started bleeding. I yelled for Kensi and she took me to the hospital. We sat in a room for awhile waiting for the doctor to tell me what happened. He came in and told me I had a miscarriage._

 

I break down sobbing. I keep punching. Kensi comes over and hugs me. I see Callen holding her daughter.

 

"What's wrong?" she asks.

 

"Flashback of that night," I say.

 

"Remember the doctor said there was nothing you could've done," she said.

 

I nod. I go back to the locker room. I change and fix my makeup. I go back out and grab my bags.

 

~4 years later~

 

Callen and I decided to let the past go and be friends. Callen and I are best friends. I am on my way to Rita's Italian Ice. I have been craving it. I am wearing a light blue tank top, short shorts, and white vans. I go in and see Callen and Jessica. They aren't married yet.  I go up to the counter and order a blue raspberry Italian ice and a birthday cake mitso. I go sit down and eat. Sam went to Afghanistan last year for a secret op. I now work for NCIS. 

  
~2 weeks later~

 

NCIS office. G and I are working at our desks and look annoyed by a blender whirring. I am wearing a red tank top, short shorts, and black combat boots. My hair is in a ponytail.

 

"It's almost ready!" Deeks says.

 

The blender whirs again.

 

"It's alive! It's **_alive_**!" Deeks says.

 

He stops the blender.

 

"Oh, ladies and gentlemen. Oh. Gracie Dog, want some of this latest creation?" Deeks  asks.

 

"Looks like someone drained it out of a latrine. Pass," I say.

 

Deeks chuckles.

 

"G-Bacon? Something to clean out that seven pounds of undigested red meat that's putrefying in your intestines?" Deeks asks.

 

"Long as I still have my teeth, I prefer to chew my food," Callen says.

 

"Well, this is a lot easier to digest. Full day's nutrients. Come on, no takers?" Deeks says/asks.

 

"Looks predigested," I say.

 

Deeks laughs.

 

"All right. Guess I'm the only person that treats their body like a temple," Deeks says.

 

"Yeah, **_Shirley_** Temple," I say.

 

G laughs.

 

"That's right. Laugh while you can, 'cause humor is the first casualty of your impending vascular dementia," Deeks says.

 

Callen laughs again; Sam comes in.

 

"Morning. What's going on?" Sam asks.

 

"Your partner has the body of Shirley Temple," Callen says.

 

"Tell me something I don't know," Sam says.

 

"Oh. You know what?" Deeks asks.

 

He was holding out a glass to Sam; he pours it back into the pitcher.

 

"That just cost you a burst of instant awesome," Deeks says.

 

"Looks more like a burst of instant..." Sam says.

 

"No, don't say it. Please," I say.

 

"Don't say what?" Sam asks.

 

"Say what?" Deeks asks.

 

"Just... drink your awesome. Enjoy!" I say.

 

"Gracie has a little problem with the, uh, "D" word," Callen says.

 

"Oh, yeah? What "D" word?" Sam asks.

 

"Dentist? Didgeridoo? Dunkleosteus?" Deeks asks.

 

"What is that?" Sam asks.

 

"It's a prehistoric fish. Don't ask me why I know that," Deeks says.

 

"Diarrhea," Callen says.

 

"No...! What did I just say?" I say/ask.

 

I am pissed off; G laughs.

 

"I almost died of dysentery in Angola... twice," I say.

 

"Oh," Sam says.

 

"Twice," Callen says.

 

"Ooh," Sam says.

 

"I'd rather be shot than drink that," I say.

 

"Hmm, then just to clarify--a clown with colitis is like your worst nightmare?" Deeks asks.

 

"Shut up, Deeks," I say.

 

Deeks laughs in his glass.

 

Eric is running down the stairs.

 

"Eric, my friend. Please tell me we have a case, even if we don't," I say.

 

"Oh, uh, yeah," Eric says.

 

"Thank God. It's like a high school locker room down there. You know what? Never mind. You wouldn't understand. You're a boy," I say going up the stairs.

 

"No, actually, I do understand. I was a geek in high school. The locker room was my Thunderdome," Eric says.

 

"Yeah?" Deeks asks.

 

I flee upstairs.

 

"Nell?!" I say.

 

"Maybe it's 'cause of that Florence Henderson haircut," Deeks says.

 

OPS center.

 

"What's the skinny, mini? AKA Ms. Jones?" Deeks asks.

 

"LAPD received a hotline tip from someone who witnessed an apparent suicide off the Whittier Street Bridge last night. The body has been identified as Lieutenant Commander Steven Hill, an engineer officer on the _USS Darlington_ , an Ohio-class nuclear sub. Now, the _Darlington_ has been at sea for three weeks, but Hill has been listed as an unauthorized absence for almost a month," Nell says.

 

"Family?" Callen asks.

 

"Wife and son. His spouse reported him missing 28 days ago," Eric says.

 

"Any red flags? Gambling? Drugs?" I ask.

 

"No. Nothing on his file," Nell says.

 

"And, of course, we can't question his unit because they're already underway," Sam says.

 

"Because of his top secret rating and his intimate knowledge of our boomers, we've been tasked with checking it out," Nell says.

 

"Okay," Callen says.

 

He looks at me.

 

"Crime scene, family?" Callen asks.

 

"Uh, Grace was a sailor. You should probably take family," Deeks says.

 

"Crime scene," I say.

 

"Gah!" Deeks says.

 

Callen chuckles and we start leaving.

 

"Diarrhea," Deeks says.

 

"Stop it," I say.

 

Under the Whittier Street Bridge. Garbled radio transmission is coming from the LAPD working on evidence. I have my sunglasses on.

 

"That'll do it," Callen says.

 

"Yeah, but why here? And where's his car? It wasn't up there," I say/ask.

 

"Could have been stolen in this part of town. Or he could have walked?" Callen says/asks.

 

"From where?" I ask.

 

"Yeah. There's not much around here. Bus?" Callen says/asks.

 

"Who takes a bus to a suicide?" I ask.

 

"Oh, you'd be surprised. Golden Gate Bridge, Niagara Falls," Callen says.

 

"Both iconic. This is just sad. Well, maybe our guy lacked imagination," I say.

 

"Or he was so distraught, he didn't care. Enge on a boomer is tough," Callen says.

 

"Just spending months at a time on a sub takes a special type," I say.

 

"All of whom are extensively screened," Callen says.

 

"So, LAPD got an anonymous tip. Why don't we have Eric check the area for cell phone activity around the time of the jump?" I say/ask.

 

My phone rings.

 

"Speak of the chicken-legged devil. What do you got, Eric?" I answer.

 

"Prelim autopsy report from the coroner's office. They're saying Hill was dead before he hit the pavement," Eric says.

 

"Hard to jump when you're a corpse," Callen says.

 

"Ah, unless you're a zombie," Eric says.

 

"You got a cause of death?" I ask.

 

"Cocaine overdose," Eric says.

 

Callen and I exchange a look…We get back into the Lamborghini.

 

~Later~

 

Bullpen. We are staring at the autopsy report on the monitor at our desks.

 

"Lieutenant Commander Hill's wife says he never used any drugs," Sam says.

 

"But toxicology proves he died of a cocaine overdose," I say.

 

"Preliminary autopsy report shows signs of repeated needle use," Deeks says.

 

"IV cocaine injection is hard-core," Callen says.

 

"How long was he dead before he was thrown off?" I ask.

 

"An hour, maybe less," Sam says.

 

"If your buddy O.D.'s, you take him to the E.R.; you don't toss him off a bridge," Callen says.

 

"Yeah, this was deliberate. It's either an act of anger or it was meant to look like a suicide," I say.

 

"Or both," Sam says.

 

"The question remains, to what end?" I ask.

 

"Wonder Twins find anything?" Deeks asks.

 

OPS center. Eric is briefing Callen and I.

 

"As a matter of fact, we did. Cell activity in the vicinity of the bridge around the time Hill's body was dumped. Most of it's probably automobile traffic, but I've got some that remain in the area long enough to have possibly witnessed something," Eric says.

 

"Do you have any names?" I ask.

 

"Yeah. But only one with a record," Eric says.

 

He puts onto screen the record of the video-maker.

 

"James Martinez. He's affiliated with the Mission Street Gang. That's their territory," Callen says.

 

"If as hanging around that area, it's a good chance it was someone from their gang. Do you have an address?" I say/ask.

 

"Yeah, I got six. He's bounced around a lot," Eric says.

 

"It's quicker to just ask his gang," I say.

 

"It's quicker, but it's a hell of a lot more dangerous. Thanks, Eric," Callen says.

 

We leave the OPS.

 

"Where's your sense of adventure?" I ask.

 

"I left it in my "sense of self-preservation" pants," Callen says.

 

"They still fit you?" I ask.

 

"Sure do," Callen says.

 

~Later~

 

In the Lamborghini.

 

"Here we go," I say.

 

"A little garden party going on here," Callen says.

 

"Yeah," I say.

 

We stop at the gate of a house; several guys come up to the car.

 

"Black tank top is Salazar, their leader," I say.

 

I open my window.

 

"You guys lost?" Salazar asks.

 

"Eh, we're just looking for a friend," Callen says.

 

"I don't think you have any friends here," Salazar says.

 

"Yeah, you're probably right," I say.

 

I  show my badge.

 

"Just want to ask one of your boys about something he might have seen," Callen says.

 

"Nice car," a guy says touching my car.

 

"Yeah, it is. Don't touch it. I'm serious," I say.

 

The guy takes his hand off the car.

 

"There's only one way this goes well for you, Salazar," Callen says.

 

"How's that?" Salazar says.

 

"You tell us where James Martinez is and we're gone," Callen says.

 

"What makes you think I know him?" Salazar asks.

 

"You wouldn't be much of a leader if you didn't," Callen says.

 

"I don't know you, and I know a lot of cops," Salazar says.

 

"We're federal agents. You wouldn't want to know us," I say.

 

Salazar chuckles.

 

"A body was dumped off the Whittier Street Bridge the other night. Martinez might have seen something," Callen says.

 

Salazar doesn’t speak.

 

"Well, I can call LAPD, have 'em send over their urban assault team and just...go house to house and look for him," I say taking out my phone and dialing Deeks' number.

 

"Where's Martinez working today?" Salazar asks and I hang up.

 

"Fruit stand on Mateo," a guy says.

 

"Wasn't that easy?" Callen asks.

 

I start the engine.

 

"One love, baby," I say.

 

We leave the 8 men who slowly go back in the garden.

 

~Later~

 

We are watching James Martinez dealing with someone in a car.

 

"You know he's gonna run," I say.

 

"No, he might not," Callen says.

 

"Trust me, he's gonna run. You know how I can tell?" I say/ask.

 

"'Cause it's 85 degrees out and I'm wearing jeans?" he asks.

 

"Exactly," I say.

 

"Mm-hmm. Well, you could just hit him with your car," Callen says.

 

"Nah. I just got it detailed," I say.

 

Callen smiles.

 

"Yo, yo!" I yell out the window.

 

James comes up to my window.

 

"Yo, what you looking for?" James asks.

 

"Looking for you, James," Callen says.

 

He shows his badge.

 

"You run, we chase you. We chase you, we catch you," I say.

 

"And when we catch you, we're gonna tell Salazar you're our informant. What'd you see the other night under the Whittier Street Bridge?" Callen says/asks.

 

"I don't know what you're talking about. I got to get to school," James says.

 

"Uh-huh," Callen says.

 

"He's funny," I say.

 

James starts running.

 

"And there he goes,"' Callen says.

 

He gets out of the car.

 

"He must be late for class," I say.

 

"Really?" Callen asks.

 

"Yeah, I'll follow him in the car," I say.

 

G runs behind James; I, tires screeching, chase him with the car.

 

James jumps over a gate, runs across a garden, G on his heels. The guy turns in an alley, just at the same time as me. I stops, G gets in.

 

"Let's go," I say.

 

I obey, the tires screech; we’re following James running as fast as he can.

 

"You almost had him," I say.

 

"I'm driving the rest of this week," Callen says.

 

"Not if you don't catch him, you don't," I say.

 

"Yeah," Callen says.

 

James climbs a truck and escapes on a roof; I stop again.

 

"I'll keep the AC on," I say.

 

"Funny," Callen says.

 

Jumping out of the car, he follows again James…I drive further…and I am able to block James when the young man is back on the road! I get out my gun in hand.

 

"Down on the ground," I say.

 

Suddenly James is thrown on the hood by a Callen-rocket and they roll over down the ground.

 

"That's for making me run!" Callen yells.

 

Boatshed. Interrogation room. I have turned upside down James’ bag. G tosses down his cap and grabs a plastic with small colored bags inside.

 

"Survey says... heroin. What are you taking at school, pharmacology?" Callen says/asks.

 

"That's not mine," James says.

 

"Yeah? Not anymore it isn't," I say.

 

I find a phone.

 

"Hey," James says.

 

"Hey, what? You said this wasn't yours," I ask/say.

 

"It's still somebody's personal property," James says.

 

"Was. Now it's evidence," I say.

 

"I don't have to talk to you guys. I got the right to remain silent," James says.

 

"Yeah, you also have the right to remain stupid," Callen says.

 

I chuckle; I am checking the phone.

 

"Or you can be smart. You can tell us what you saw under the Whittier Street Bridge," Callen says.

 

"I don't even know where that is," James says.

 

"No?" I ask.

 

I show the video…We hear the laughter on phone, James’shouts.

 

_"Man on fire! Man on fire! Burning Angel! Burning Angel!" James shouts on the video._

 

"Huh. These must be buddies of yours from your Mensa group," Callen says.

 

OPS center. The video is on the big screen.

 

 _"Luis el Conquistador Morales._ _Show me something, baby_. Let me see. Ooh! _What the hell was that?" James says on the video._

 

"No eyes on the bridge, but you can hear a car.  Every engine has its own acoustic signature," Eric says.

 

"That would be great if we had an engine to compare it to, but we don't," Sam says.

 

"True. But I narrowed down the size and type of engine, and, by searching traffic cams, I found three matches in the vicinity at that time, one of which is registered to Michael Wilson," Eric says.

 

"Guy's served time and he's a white supremacist. Card-carrying member of the Herrenvolk Brotherhood. Currently on parole," I say.

 

"You may get a chance to sport that Nazi tattoo before the day's over yet," Sam says.

 

"Wonderful. Send us his address. Have his P.O. meet us over there. Otherwise, I, uh...I want their blessing to check in on him," I say.

 

"Got it," Callen says.

 

We leave the OPS.

 

"Hey, have either of you spoken to Hetty today?" Sam asks.

 

"No. Why?" I ask.

 

"Because I think something's up," Sam says.

 

"It's Hetty. Something's always up with her," I say.

 

"She's being called back to Washington, and I think it's about Afghanistan and the whole White Ghost thing. Okay, can you guys just talk to her whenever you get a chance?" Sam says/asks.

 

"We will. It's gonna have to wait, though," Callen says.

 

Wilson’s house. Sam and Deeks are heading to the door, guns ready; Callen and I to the back.

 

"Set," I say.

 

Sam kneels down and knocks at the door.

 

"No answer," Sam says.

 

"Try again," I say.

 

"It's locked. I'm gonna pick it," Sam says.

 

Deeks is protecting him. Suddenly bullets comes through the door, barely missing his head – and same happens through a window near Callen and I. Automatic guns. Deeks shoots at the door and helps Sam reach a wall hiding them] Gunfire is still heavy, coming from all the windows.

 

"Some serious firepower," I say.

 

"You think?" Callen asks.

 

"Federal agents. Throw down your weapons," I say.

 

Some glass shatters at our side: a grenade was thrown out near us.

 

"Grenade," I yell.

 

I quickly pick it up quick and throw it back inside through the window. I kneel down…Boom! Both window frames fall down with the blast!

 

"Son of a bitch," Deeks yells.

 

"Sam, Deeks, fall back, get ready for them to come out firing. Eric, we need backup," I say.

 

"On its way," Eric says over coms.

 

"A hand grenade?" I ask.

 

"You told 'em to throw down their weapons," Callen says.

 

"Guys, nobody's coming. We got nothing, nobody coming," Deeks says.

 

Callen and I carefully look inside.

 

Wilson’s house. The paramedics take away a man with an oxygen mask

 

"Is that Wilson?" Sam asks.

 

"It's hard to say. Guy's in pretty bad shape," Callen says.

 

"Is he gonna make it?" Deeks asks.

 

"Eh, it's doubtful. Found a couple other bodies inside, including a woman that was shackled to a bed. She may have been executed before we got there. There was a single gunshot wound to her face," I say handing a bag to Sam.

 

"This?" Sam asks.

 

Burnt thing in a bag.

 

"Looks like her I.D. Found it in what might have been her purse. Sent a photo to Eric. Hopefully he'll get a match at the DMV," I say.

 

DEA Agent Talia appears from nowhere.

 

"What's shaking, partner?" Talia asks Deeks.

 

Deeks is surprised.

 

"Hey," Deeks says.

 

"Hey," Talia says.

 

Delighted, she hugs him.

 

"Hi. Hi, hi. All right, there... Hi," Deeks says.

 

"Did you guys make this mess?" Talia asks.

 

"Yeah, we did. DEA Agent Talia del Campo, you remember Agent Callen, Agent Williams," Deeks says.

 

"How you doing?" I ask.

 

"Good," Talia says.

 

"Good to see you again," Callen says.

 

"You, too," Talia says.

 

"And this is, uh, Special Agent Sam Hanna," Deeks says.

 

"Hey," Sam says.

 

They shake hands.

 

"What's your connection to Michael Wilson?" I ask.

 

"The DEA's been following the Herrenvolk Brotherhood. They move half the meth on the West Coast," Talia says.

 

"What about coke?" Callen asks.

 

"Not traditionally, but they've been forming some new alliances. Why?" Talia says/asks.

 

"Something else we're working on. Nothing big," Callen says.

 

Talia laughs.

 

"Right. You guys hate to share," Talia says.

 

"Okay, then. We're gonna run down this lead. We'll, uh... we'll let you know what we find," I say.

 

"Yeah. You three should... talk. See if you could find something to help on this," Callen says.

 ~Later~

 

OPS center. Callen and I are going in.

 

"Anything yet?" I ask.

 

"Yeah. Got a hit. Jennifer Anderson," Eric says.

 

"She a missing person?" Callen asks.

 

"No," Eric says.

 

"Single?" I ask.

 

"Uh, married. Husband Charles Anderson, no kids. Guy owns a yacht-building company in Marina del Rey," Eric says.

 

"Successful?" I ask.

 

"Barely," Eric says.

 

"Then that rules out a kidnap for ransom," Callen says.

 

"Unless the kidnappers didn't know he was struggling," I say.

 

"Or he hired them himself. She have a life insurance policy?" Callen says.

 

"If she did, it might take me a while to find it," Eric says.

 

"All right. Let us know when you do," I say.

 

"Yeah," Eric says.

 

Marina Del Rey. Anderson’s office. G and I are waiting, watching around ships models and photos.

 

"Lady, Gentleman, can I help you?" Anderson asks.

 

"Charles Anderson?" Callen asks.

 

"Mm-hmm," Anderson says.

 

We show our badges.

 

"Special Agent Callen. Special Agent Williams. NCIS," Callen says.

 

"We just want to ask you a few questions about your wife," I say.

 

"What about her?" Anderson asks.

 

"When was the last time you spoke to her?" I ask.

 

"Yesterday," Anderson says.

 

"Not today?" I ask.

 

"Not yet. Well, she's in Europe with a friend," Anderson says.

 

Callen and I exchange a look.

 

"Do you have a number where we could reach her?" I ask.

 

Anderson chuckles.

 

"Not until she reaches her hotel. She's on a train to Istanbul. What is this about?" Anderson says/asks.

 

"Her driver's license was found at the scene of a shootout and ensuing fire this morning. A woman's body was recovered," Callen says.

 

Anderson’s smile vanishes.

 

"Had her purse been stolen recently?" I ask.

 

Anderson looks distraught.

 

"Mr. Anderson?" I ask.

 

"Are you sure...are you sure it was Jen?" Anderson asks.

 

"We're waiting for a positive I.D.," Callen says.

 

Anderson’s voice breaks down.

 

"They swore they wouldn't hurt her," Anderson says.

 

"Who did?" Callen asks.

 

"They wanted me to design and build them a boat,"' Anderson says.

 

"Who?" I ask.

 

:I don't know. They never used any names. Drug dealers. They were supposed to release her today after their run," Anderson says.

 

"What kind of boat did you build for them?" Callen asks.

 

"A submersible," Anderson says.

 

"A submarine?!" I ask.

 

Anderson nods; Callen an I exchange a look again…

 

OPS center: Granger, Callen, Eric, and I; on screen, the boatshed: Talia, Deeks and Sam; then, boatshed and OPS on screen…

 

"The cartels have been using narco subs since the '90s. Originally, they were primitive, low-profile semisubmersibles with just the exhaust and a cockpit out of the water. But lately, they've been making them bigger and more sophisticated," Granger says.

 

"Anderson sent the one he built in pieces to be assembled in Colombia. According to the specs, it's capable of traveling 2,500 miles and diving to a depth of 60 feet. That makes it almost impossible to spot," Eric says.

 

"We estimate that at least a third of Colombia's cocaine export is coming in via sub," Talia says.

 

"But less than 15% of them are actually caught," Granger says.

 

"So even if they spend a few million dollars on one and lose it, it's still worth it," Callen asks.

 

"Oh, absolutely. The Colombians have found subs being built capable of hauling 200 tons of cocaine. We're talking a street value approaching the billion dollar mark? That's billion with a capital "B."," Eric says.

 

"Unfortunately, the only one who would have known where to find this sub is now clinging to life at the USC Burn Center," Sam says.

 

"If these guys are bringing in several tons of coke, there's only a few players that can move that kind of weight. Somebody's bound to talk," Deeks asks.

 

"We can help with that. I can see what kind of chatter my people have heard," Talia says.

 

"Good. Eric, go through Charles Anderson's phone records. These guys had to have contacted him more than once," I say.

 

"Let me see what I can find," Eric says.

 

"Callen and I will head back to the Wilson house. Now that we know what we're looking for, we may get lucky," I say.

 

I look at Granger.

 

"What's the status on Hetty?" I ask.

 

"She's being called back to Washington. Don't ask me why. I wouldn't tell you if I knew," Granger says.

 

"I feel like we've had this conversation before," Callen says.

 

"Those who ignore the past are destined to repeat it," Granger says.

 

"What does that have to do with Hetty?" I ask.

 

"Ask her," Granger says.

 

"We're asking you," Callen says.

 

"You got to be very careful.. Your fairy godmother isn't going to be around to protect you, so I suggest you get back to work," Granger says.

 

"We'll talk later," I say.

 

"You can count on that," Granger says.

 

We walk out; Granger sighs, his shoulders slope down.

 

Callen and I are going down the stairs.

 

"Callen? Gracie?" Nell asks.

 

"Where have you been?" I ask.

 

"I was checking out the two cars you found at Wilson's. So, one is his, but the other is being leased by Santa Monica College student Ali Williams. Uh, no relation, I'm guessing?" Nell says/asks.

 

"Any chance he's a white supremacist?" Callen asks.

 

"I don't think so," Nell says.

 

She shows an ID – not exactly a Caucasian face.

 

"Anyway, he's here on a student visa from Cyprus," Nell says.

 

"Could be one of the bodies we found inside. Maybe they jacked him for his car," I say.

 

"That may be. I looked into the GPS. Lots of bars and strip clubs. But what's interesting is this address in San Pedro. It's a wet dock rental for ship repair," Nell says.

 

"But Anderson's sub was assembled in South America," I say.

 

"And they usually sink 'em after they unload the cargo offshore," Callen says.

 

"Might be worth looking into," Nell says.

 

"We'll check it out," I say.

 

"Okay," Nell says.

 

"Good job, Nell," Callen says.

 

"Thanks," Nell says.

 

We leave the bullpen, without noticing Hetty watching us from the mezzanine; a suitcase at her feet.

 

The Lamborghini is heading to San Pedro. It stops at a dock; Callen and I get out of the car.

 

"We got eyes on this place, Eric?" I ask.

 

"No. Sorry," Eric says.

 

I am picking the locked door; Callen looks inside through a window. We pull out our  guns and come in. There’s nobody inside; but we hear men shouting and grunting: next door, we hear rapid gunfire on TV; in front of the monitor, 2 men; one is playing video games: Ali Williams…None of them notices they’re no more alone.

 

"Who's winning? Federal agents. Put your hands on your head," I ask/say.

 

The men obey.

 

"Anybody else here?" Callen asks.

 

"Go to hell. Don't say anything," Ali says.

 

His buddy nods.

 

"I blame the video games," I say.

 

I cuff them. Callen and I search further- we reach a pontoon. A blue cover is hiding…a submarine!!

 

"You're not going to believe what we're looking at," Callen says.

 

I pull out my phone.

 

"This is going on my Christmas card," I say.

 

"Eric, we found the sub. Have Sam and Deeks meet us here," Callen says.

 

"Got it," Eric says over coms.

 

"Alert the harbormaster, the Coast Guard and the Navy," I say.

 

"Copy that," Eric says.

 

"You think anyone's on board?" I ask.

 

"After you," Callen says.

 

I glare at him.

 

"You know damn well I'm not going on that thing. I'll stay here," I say.

 

"Thought you were wearing your sense-of-adventure pants today, huh?" Callen says.

 

"Yeah. I don't have a problem with adventure. I'm just not a big fan of confined spaces," I say.

 

"Huh!" Callen says.

 

He climbs on top of the sub, opens the hatch. G is at the bottom of the ladder. Laptops are on; red lights are sparkling above doors. G goes to the back and stops dead when he spots many bags of ammonium nitrate. He doesn’t see the opposite door creaking slightly…A gun aims at his back – gunshot! It misses, luckily! A man rushes out from the front and shoots again.

 

"G!" I yell.

 

I run inside. G protects his ears with his hands – he moves, the guy shoots again.

 

"Hey," I say.

 

I am above the man – I shoot and the guy falls backwards. G stays quiet. I slide down the ladder.

 

"G?" I ask.

 

"All good. It's all clear back here. I think we're a little late. Looks like the drugs have been loaded out," Callen says.

 

"Fertilizer?" I ask.

 

"Yeah, somebody else has other plans for this thing," Callen says.

 

We stare at more ammonium nitrate bags.

 

"This whole thing's a giant torpedo..." Callen says.

 

"Eric, we're going to need the bomb squad, as well," I say.

 

"Grace, come again?" Eric asks.

 

"You're breaking up!" Nell says.

 

"I said we need the bomb squad," I say.

 

"Agent... Callen...?" Granger breaks up over the com.

 

:I said we're gonna need the bomb squad!" I yell.

 

"Agent Callen...?" Granger asks.

 

"You're breaking up," Nell says.

 

"Better go up topside," Callen says.

 

"No. If anybody's going topside, it's me," I say.

 

At that moment we hear footfalls on the ladder: Ali.

 

"Ahmed? Ahmed?!" Ali asks.

 

2 other men come down.

 

"They must be on the boat," a man says.

 

"Federal agents! Throw down your weapons!" I yell.

 

The only answer is…bullets ricocheting!

 

"Ali? We have to leave before anyone else shows up. Cast off," a man says.

 

"What about Ahmed?" a second man asks.

 

"He's dead. Help Ali. Go. Hurry," the first man says.

 

Ali and Man2 leave the sub- Callen whispers.

 

"Eric, do you copy? Eric, do you copy?" Callen asks.

 

"Sam and Deeks are on the way," I say.

 

Ali and his buddy are back. The man types on the laptop; the engine whirs.

 

"That's not good," I say.

 

"Harbormaster, Coast Guard and Navy have all been alerted to this vessel and its location. You cannot escape," Callen says.

 

"Neither can you…" the man says.

 

They close the door, we are trapped. I try to open, grunt; sigh.

 

The submarine is already deep under water – running towards its terrible goal


	2. Chapter

We hear Sam's voice really distorted.

 

"Ca... Gr... do you... ...me?" he says.

 

"We are in the sub. I repeat-- we are in the sub," I say.

 

"SA... ...breaking up," we hear Granger say.

 

"They replaced the drugs with fertilizer," Sam says.

 

~A few minutes later~

 

"We are inside the sub," I shout.

 

Callen sighs.

 

"Ca... ...me…." we hear Sam say.

 

"I got nothing. We're on our own," I say.

 

The engine speeds up, the hull clangs, the sub tilts.

 

"And we're diving," I say.

 

We have to clutch bars to keep our balance.

 

~Later~

 

I hang up a cable while G is trying to open the door with a knife.

 

"G., give it up. There's no way to open that hatch from this side short of C-4. This thing is built like a damn battleship," I say.

 

"The hell are you doing there, MacGyver?" Callen asks.

 

I have tied my keys with the cable.

 

"It'll help us know which way we're going," I say.

 

The air whirrs.

 

"We're turning starboard," I say.

 

"How deep Eric say this thing can go?" Callen asks.

 

"Deeper than I want it to. 60 feet," I say.

 

"Harbor's not even 50," Callen says.

 

"Deep enough to come and go without being seen. Plus all the ship traffic'll make it hard to pick up on sonar," I say.

 

"We got to find a way to force this thing to the surface," Callen says.

 

"Yeah," I say.

 

~Later~

 

G is banging at the door and shouting.

 

"We're federal agents. The Coast Guard and Navy are already searching for this vessel," Callen yells.

 

He looks at me. I am sweating.

 

"You okay?" he asks.

 

"Considering I'm trapped in a tiny submarine with tons of fertilizer, essentially turning it into a giant underwater bomb..." I say.

 

"It's not that tiny," Callen says.

 

"Speak for yourself," I say.

 

"All right, look, let's think, here. What can we do to stop this thing?" Callen says/asks.

 

"I don't know. We're in the bow. Most of the controls'll be in the bridge back to the engine, rudder and prop," I say.

 

"What if we purge the ballast?" Callen asks.

 

"They used the cocaine as a ballast, now it's the fertilizer. Any seawater ballast controls'll be in the bridge as well," I say.

 

"You got any good news for me?" Callen asks.

 

"So far this thing isn't leaking," I say.

 

There’s a deep, loud clang, the sub violently shakes] .

 

"What the hell was that?" Callen asks.

 

"It must have hit the bottom. Or some old pilings. This thing was made for open water, not navigating obstacles," I say.

 

"Well, this just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?" Callen asks.

 

~Later~

 

 I am writing on the hull (engraving with his knife) and mumbling.

 

"Five degrees between..." I mumble.

 

"Hope that's not a farewell note," Callen says.

 

"Trying to get a rough idea of where we are based on speed, running time, and the course correction," I say.

 

"And?" Callen asks.

 

"I'm guessing we're about three miles off the coast of Huntington," I say.

 

"Well, that's good. Means they're not planning on detonating this thing under the Santa Monica Pier. Check it out," Callen says.

 

We open the grate protecting cables and…

 

"Batteries. Makes sense to run 'em along the keel because of weight," I say.

 

"Probably wired the length of the sub. We disconnect these, we'll cut their power by what-- 30%?" Callen says/asks.

 

"hould at least slow 'em down until they surface and switch to diesel," I say.

 

G is sweating too now.

 

"Let's do it," Callen says.

 

We begin the disconnection.  A few seconds later the lights go out and the air whirring vanishes.

 

"20 bucks says that was intentional," I say into the darkness.

 

"Yeah, we can use the batteries to power these lights back up," Callen says turning the flashlight on his phone on.

 

"Yeah. But they won't help with the air," I say.

 

"I'm really starting to hate these guys," Callen says.

 

Knocking at the door.

 

"You think you're clever, but you're not," we hear a muffled voice say.

 

"Who am I speaking to?" Callen asks.

 

"I am the captain. I am Jabril. And you are dead man," Jabril says.

 

"What's your game plan, Jabril?" Callen asks.

 

"This is no game. This is jihad. We will eliminate _jahiliyyah_. We will restore sharia to the world," Jabril says.

 

"What the hell's _jahiliyyah_?" Callen whispers to me.

 

"The time of darkness before we were given the Quran," I say.

 

"Where we headed, Jabril?" Callen asks.

 

"We are going to paradise. You are going to hell," Jabril says.

 

 

" _Istishhadi_. These guys are martyrs," I whisper.

 

"Which means...this is a suicide mission," Callen says.

 

"Yeah," I say.

 

~Later~

 

I am writing again and mumbling while G is trying to power the lights.

 

"I know you were a math-a-magician or whatever in high school, but you really think this is the best use of your time right now?" Callen says/asks.

 

"I was a mathlete, and I'm trying to determine how much air we have left. This thing is essentially a cylinder, the volume of which is pi times the radius squared, so about four-four feet by ten," I say.

 

A light turns on.

 

"Not counting what's in the nose, that gives us roughly 500 cubic feet. Now, the two of us will breathe about a cubic foot every two minutes, which is..." I say.

 

"250 minutes. Four hours. We're laughing," Callen says.

 

I am panting.

 

"Yeah. If we didn't have to exhale. Every time we breathe out, the carbon dioxide level in here increases," I say.

 

"Why do you always have to be a sub's half-empty guy, huh?" Callen asks.

 

"Because when the CO2 level reaches three percent, our breathing doubles. Then when it reaches five percent, our breathing quadruples. Beyond that, we'll start showing signs of...disorientation, blurred vision and, uh, loss of consciousness and eventual death," I say.

 

"Bet you mathletes were a lot of fun, huh? "Hey, guys, guess how many pounds per square inch it takes to crush a kitten's skull?"," Callen asks.

 

"We've been running straight for a long time," I say.

 

"That's good. Less chance of hitting something," Callen says.

 

"Okay. You want to strike out at America, you basically have an underwater bomb. Where do you use it if it's not a crowded pier?" I say/ask.

 

"I'd do a bridge during rush hour," Callen says.

 

"Okay," I say.

 

"Offshore oil rig. It's an environmental disaster, loss of lives. Not to mention the symbolism of oil. Cruise ship. Lots of innocent civilians. Icon of Western excess. A war ship…We're headed for San Diego," Callen says.

 

"Where the USS _Van Buren_ is in port. You destroy an American aircraft carrier, that's like Christmas for insurgents," I say.

 

"You want to talk about symbolism..." Callen says.

 

"Not to mention the environmental disaster. The USS _Van Buren_ is nuclear-powered. There are two reactors on that thing," I say.

 

"The Navy will be actively searching for us. Plus, they already have security measures in place at the base, but... we can't run the risk of this thing slipping through. If we can't force them to the surface..." Callen says.

 

"We have to sink this thing," I say.

 

"You know what that means?" Callen asks.

 

"Yeah," I say.

 

"How the hell do we sink it?" Callen asks.

 

"We need a big-ass drill or a cutting torch to breach the hull," I say.

 

"Could a thermite reaction burn through?" Callen asks.

 

"Maybe. But we'd need magnesium to ignite some iron oxide," I say.

 

"We got plenty of rust here from all the salt water corrosion," Callen says.

 

"We need to collect as much as we can. We add some aluminum to get the temperature up, we may be able to burn through a weld or soften it enough to compromise its integrity. But we don't have any magnesium," I say.

 

"We have lithium. From the batteries," Callen says.

 

"Lithium. It's an alkali metal. It's highly reactive and flammable. Hell, it's a fusion fuel in staged thermonuclear weapons," I say.

 

"We short-circuit the batteries, we can induce thermal runaway," Callen says.

 

"I don't think I've ever seen you this excited about a suicide plan," I say.

 

~Later~

 

Callen and I are panting and sweating. We work on batteries.

 

"Be careful with that stuff. It's highly corrosive," I say.

 

G has torn one open; it puts it against the hull.

 

"Matches? Lighter? Nothing?" Callen asks.

 

"Do you?" I ask.

 

I put cables (one tied to another battery) into the torn one. G grabs the fire extinguisher.

 

"Try not to inhale the smoke," I say.

 

We're panting a lot; I am about to connect the 2nd cable to the battery. I look at G.

 

"You ready?" I ask.

 

"Light it up," Callen says.

 

At the right moment when I connect the cable and the battery, I turn my eyes away.

 

"Fire in the hole," I say.

 

There’s a pop, white light, hissing, in the torn battery. It works! Fire is roaring, hissing.

 

"Now, G," I say.

 

G bangs the hull with the fire extinguisher; several times, grunting louder as he strikes harder.

 

"Move! Watch out. It's not working," I say.

 

I grab a heavy grate and this time water gushes in. We exchange a look.

~Later~

 

Water is pouring; G is banging on the hull with his knife.

 

"What are you doing?" I ask.

 

"Morse code. The Navy's got to be listening. Sorry I interrupted your little game of, uh, Candy Crush there," he says.

 

"I'm writing a letter to Hetty," I say.

 

"We're getting out of here, Gracie," Callen says.

 

"In case we don't," I say.

 

"Well, tell her I died saving your life, will you?" he asks.

 

"You're joking about a letter my family's gonna read after I'm dead," I say.

 

"Too soon?" Callen asks.

 

"What's wrong with you?" I ask.

 

"Never heard of black humor?" he asks.

 

"Are you trying to make me angry? 'Cause if you are, it's working," I ask/say.

 

"I need you angry. But not at me. At them. 'Cause sooner or later, they're gonna open that hatch, and when they do, we need to be ready to roll," he says.

 

"Was that your plan? There's no way they're gonna open that hatch and risk flooding the bridge. That's just stupid," I ask/say.

 

"Trust me. I got a good feeling about this plan," Callen says.

 

"You remember when I told you that the CO2 level buildup will start affecting your ability to think straight? Well, it's happening." I ask/say.

 

"Either they open that hatch, and we go out firing..." he says.

 

"Or we sink," I say.

 

"Or the Navy picks up on my Morse Code," he says.

 

"Then they **_torpedo_** us, and we sink," I say.

 

"Either way, we're not letting them get to San Diego, right?" he asks.

 

"…Right," I say.

 

~Later~

 

The water is coming up to my chest.

 

"We're diving," Callen says.

 

"I'm not sure," I say.

 

"No, I can feel it," he says.

 

I sigh.

 

"As the bow takes on water it pitches forward. They'll try to compensate, but the extra drag and weight--that'd take more power," I say.

 

"Power they don't have since we disconnected the batteries," he says.

 

"We may be able to travel forward bow down without diving, but eventually the weight'll win out. We'll drop like a rock, G," I say.

 

"I love it when a plan comes together. And that's where you say, uh, "I pity the fool that messes with me."," he says.

 

"I'm starting to think I'd have been better off with Deeks," I say.

 

There’s a loud thumping; a little shaking.

 

"The hell was that?" he asks.

 

We hear Jabril's muffled voice.

 

"It's probably a sonobuoy. It's command activated to gauge range, bearing and Doppler information on active sonar contacts," I say.

 

"Meaning the next explosion's a torpedo?" Callen asks.

 

"If they pinged us," I say.

 

"Let's make sure they do," he says.

 

We both clang on the hull.

 

~Later~

 

I get tired; there’s not much oxygen left. G comes close to me. My neck is now in the water.

 

"Hey. You all right?" he asks.

 

"I'm fine," I say.

 

"They're gonna open that hatch any second now," he says hugging me.

 

"They better. 'Cause that's about all we've got left," I say.

 

~Later~

 

I am coughing: my mouth is already under water; Callen wheezes and coughs. We can no longer speak normally.

 

"What happens now?" Callen asks.

 

"I think this is where you come up with a plan," I say.

 

"Isn't it your turn to save us?" he asks.

 

~Later~

 

As soon as we hear the metallic noise, we dive.

 

"Aah!" the second man yells.

 

The gushing water has thrown him down backwards. Callen and I hold on to bars.

 

"Kill them," Jabril says.

 

Ali and his friend shoot in the water, unable to spot us. They carefully come in the bow. Ali gasps and vanishes under water, pulled by me.

 

"Ali!" the second men yells.

 

He’s swallowed up as well – this time, it was G. Jabril is alone, waiting, ready. He shoots when I surface but I knew it: Ali takes the bullet, I am holding him like a shield. And I don’t miss the terrorist. The alarm is still beeping.

 

"Can we get this thing to the surface?" Callen asks.

 

"Ah. It took on too much water and the power's out. Our only hope is a free ascent," I say.

 

"We're not gonna be able to open that hatch till the sub fills with water, the pressure equalizes," he says.

 

"We got to flood it," I say.

 

I open a gate. More water gushes in. G takes the ladder.

 

"Right before we open the hatch, you have to take in as much air into your lungs as you can and then scream all the way to the surface," I say.

 

"Doesn't sound very manly," Callen says.

 

"If you don't, the air will expand and your lungs will explode," I say.

 

G laughs.

 

"Let's go, move," I say.

 

We go up.

 

Near the buoy 2 heads appear: Callen and I, both gasping, have made it to the surface! We breathe deeply - I chuckle.

 

"You still thinking about getting that boat?" I ask.

 

"You think that's funny, huh?" Callen asks.

 

"It's pretty funny," I say.

 

"You remember to grab your car keys back there?" Callen asks.

 

"Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch," I say.

 

We both laugh.

 

"Looks like we're swimming home and walking home!" Callen says.

 

We hear some helicopter blades whirring.

 

"Maybe not," I say.

 

We wave.

 

"Hey!" I yell.

 

"Hey!" Callen yells.

 

"Hey!" I yell.

 

"Hey!" Callen yells.

 

~Later

 

Boatshed. Nell is checking G’s ear. I am wearing my wet clothes and Callen's jacket.

 

"Looks like you might have ruptured an eardrum," Nell says.

 

"What?" Callen asks.

 

Sam and Talia smile. Eric is at the table with me. Nell checks G’s eyes.

 

"You're both lucky you weren't killed by the concussion," Nell says.

 

"Damn lucky," Eric says.

 

"I just came by, you guys, to make sure you're okay. Glad you're doing well," Talia says.

 

"Oh, yeah, we do this sort of thing all the time," I say.

 

"God, don't tell me that," Callen says.

 

Deeks comes in carrying a bag.

 

"Oh, never fear, Dr. Deeks is here. Nerd Herd, you want to grab some, uh, pint glasses over there?" Deeks says/asks.

 

"All right," Nell says.

 

Eric and Nell move to the kitchen. Deeks pulls off his bag bottles of beer.

 

"So, uh, how are my little mermaids?" Deeks asks.

 

"Okay, on that note, I should get going. But, um, guys, thank you for everything. It was, uh, it was a pleasure working with you. You," Talia says the last part to Sam.

 

"Yeah," Sam says.

 

"So good to meet you," Talia says.

 

Talia leaves the boatshed.

 

"Deeks, what are you doing?" I ask.

 

"We got cervezas and we have, uh, dark rum," Deeks says.

 

"No," Callen says.

 

"Yeah," Deeks says.

 

"Yes," Sam says.

 

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, we have...Depth Charges," Deeks says.

 

"You're ridiculous. Give me one," I say.

 

We laugh. We all raise out beer and a shot glass of rum.

 

"To, um..." Deeks says.

 

"Partners," Sam says.

 

"Family," I say wrapping my arm around Eric.

 

"Friends," Eric says.

 

"Friends, family, and partners," Nell says.

 

"Friends. family, and partners," Callen says.

 

"Three, two, one," Deeks says.

 

We drop the shot glass into the beer.

 

"Aah..." Nell says.

 

"Go!" Deeks says.

 

"Oh, yeah," I say.

 

We drink! We cough, exclaim.

 

"Oh, God, that is.. _"_ Deeks says.

 

 _"_ Damn!" I say.

 

 "…that is delicious.?" Deeks says.

 

Jessica runs in and kisses Callen deeply. I down 4 more drinks while they are kissing.

 

"I am going home," I slur.

 

"Let us drive you," Callen says indicating to Jessica.

 

"No, I will get a cab," I say.

 

I grab my bag and walk out. I walk own the road and call a cab. I go home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://www.polyvore.com/gracies_fourth_outfit/set?id=137202637
> 
> http://www.polyvore.com/gracies_fifth_outfit/set?id=137202689

~3 weeks later~

LA River. Callen and I are undercover.  Prisoners are cleaning the side. A cell phone rings – I answer. I am a guard.

 

"Briggs," I answer.

 

"Good Morning. I'm calling on behalf of Ocean Park Pest Control. We just wanted to let you know that our exterminators are done at your house and you can return home now," Eric says.

 

"Thanks, but now's not a good time," I say.

 

"I see. Well, my supervisor was the one who asked me to call you," Eric says.

 

"Tell your supervisor that I can't leave now. I'm working," I say.

 

"I understand that, Ma'am, but it's important that you check in on things before we close the work order," Eric says.

 

"Got it," I say.

 

"We at Ocean Park Pest Control appreciate your business," Eric says and I hang up.

 

I am pissed off. I sigh and yell at a prisoner.

 

"Put some effort into it! This ain't a picnic," I yell.

 

The prisoner raises his head: Callen; bearded and longer hair than usual– he’s sweating a lot. He rises.

 

"You got a problem, Walinski?" I ask.

 

"Just relax. It's a thousand degrees out here," Callen says.

 

"I suggest you enjoy the fresh air," I say.

 

G throws his rake on the ground; he laughs.

 

"I'm enjoying it now!" he says.

 

"Pick it up and get back to work," I say.

 

"Why don't you pick it up?" Callen asks.

 

Men around stop and watch.

 

"Pick it up," I say.

 

G picks it up…and wants to strike me. I block the rake and punch G in the stomach. G grunts and leans forwards, looking for his breath. I throw my baton to another guard and cuff G.

 

"Congratulations, Walinski. You got your wish. You'll be begging for some sun after two weeks in the box," I say.

 

I start dragging him away.

 

"What are you looking at? Get back to work!" I yell at the other prisoners.

 

"You heard her," a guard yells.

 

NCIS office. Callen and I are coming in from the patio. Granger is waiting for us at the bottom of the staircase. I am wearing a gray breast cancer awareness top, short shorts, and athletic shoes.

 

"This better be good," I say.

 

"Why is that, Agent Williams?" Granger asks.

 

"Because we've been working a case that's required me to be locked up for weeks," Callen says.

 

"He doesn't like prison food," I say.

 

"Or my cell mate," Callen says.

 

"Well, you can go back under when this is done," Granger says.

 

"Yeah, if we didn't blow our cover coming out," I say.

 

"Well, that's on you two, isn't it? Navy contractor with access to our cyber defense program was murdered. He was trying to identify those operating a Deep Web site dealing in drugs and weapons so that we could shut them down. Sam and Deeks are operating the crime scene. I need you to talk to the deceased's next of kin. A sister," Granger says.

 

"You pulled us out on a hunch?" I ask.

 

"Think of it as a furlough for good behavior," Granger says.

 

He leaves us, both pissed off.

 

"When is Hetty coming back?" Callen asks.

 

"That is a good question," I say.

 

"I mean, seriously, how long can a hearing drag on?" Callen asks.

 

I chuckle.

 

"That is gonna depend on how cooperative she is," I say.

 

"Wonderful," Callen says.

 

~Later~

 

Callen and I are walking in the street with Bell’s sister; she’s keeping his brother’s dog on a lead.

 

"Brian started to change when our parents split. I was 11. Brian was eight. It was an ugly divorce, and Brian spent most of it hiding out in his room playing on his computer. At the time, it seemed like a godsend. He could just put on his headphones and escape, but he never really came back," his sister says.

 

"Can you think of anybody that would've wanted him dead?" I ask.

 

"No. No, he...He didn't have any enemies I knew of. Or friends, for that matter. He barely left the house. He even had his groceries delivered," she says.

 

"No relationships?" I ask.

 

She sighs.

 

"No, not really. Not in the flesh and blood, anyway. He was always happiest online," she says.

 

"He ever talk to you about his work?" Callen asks.

 

"No. But I wouldn't have understood it if he did. He was the boy genius. I can barely program my DVR," she says.

 

"And he didn't make any indication recently that he felt like he might be in trouble or feared for his life?" I ask.

 

She nods.

 

"All the time. He was...prone to paranoia. I did what I could to help him. I'd even sleep over some nights, but I have a family. I tried to get him to move in, but...he wouldn't hear of it," she says.

 

"Well, I'm sure wherever he is now, he feels happy and safe," Callen says.

 

"I'd like to believe that. Thank you," she says.

 

I hand her a card.

 

"If you think of anything else, give us a call," I say.

 

"Yeah. Um, I don't suppose either of you want to adopt his dog. My place doesn't allow pets," she says.

 

"Oh, I'd love to, but my fiancé's allergic. Gracie?" Callen says/asks.

 

"I'm never home, but, uh, thank you," I say.

 

"You sure?" Callen asks me.

 

I clear my throat while walking away.

 

"Take care," Callen says.

 

"Bye," the sister says.

 

Callen follows me; the young woman whispers to the dog.

 

Callen and I are about to reach the Mercedes – Callen chuckles.

 

"Maybe you should reconsider," Callen says.

 

"What?" I ask.

 

"The dog," Callen says.

 

"What am I gonna do with a dog?" I ask.

 

"Ah, you can take care of it, play with it, scratch its ears. You used to like dogs," he says.

 

"I do. I thought you were my best friend. Oh, you want me to scratch your ears, is that it?" I say/ask.

 

"A dog would be good for you," Callen says.

 

"Come to think of it, I feed you, I take you for walks, and you are very protective of me," I say.

 

"Don't say it," Callen says.

 

He sits down in the car.

 

"You my dog!" I yell.

 

Callen starts the engine.

 

"Huh? You my dog!" I say.

 

I try to open the passenger door; it’s locked.

 

"Hey," I say.

 

I knock at the window.

 

"Open up," I say.

 

I smile; tires squealing he drives away; I stand in the middle of the road and shout.

 

"Come back, big dog!" I yell.

 

Callen stops; he backs up…fast! I have to step back before the car stops again. We smile at each other. Callen gets out and walks back to me. He puts his hands on each side of my face and kisses me passionately. I kiss him back. I pull away.

 

"We need to talk about this later. We have work to do," I say.

 

He nods and we get in the car. I turn on the radio and we fake sing. More like screech the lyrics. We get back and Sam, Nell, and Deeks are in the bullpen.

 

"Oh! What?! Is that real? Oh, my God. It's so glorious. It's like a...It's like an angelic bathmat. I just want to touch it. It looks so fluffy," Deeks asks/says trying to touch Callen's beard.

 

G raises a hand.

 

"We talked to the dead guy's sister. Seems like he lived his life online. No friendships, no relationships," Callen says.

 

"He also had a full military MOPP suit in his closet," Sam says.

 

"She said he was a little paranoid," I say.

 

"And Eric's working on a possible I.D. of someone who may have stolen Brian Bell's computer," Nell says.

 

Eric runs down the stairs.

 

"We got trouble. Intruder alert. Intruder alert," Eric says.

 

He wheels round and runs back up. We hurry into the OPS.

 

"What the hell is going on, Beale?" Granger asks.

 

"Look," Eric says.

 

He puts footage onto screen: 4 men in suit and 2 women, with pilot-case trolleys, are waiting at the wooden door.

 

"That's outside this building," Callen says.

 

"Who are they?" I ask.

 

"Don't let them in until we know," Granger says.

 

One of the women shows a badge at the camera: Department of Justice.

 

"Department of Justice?" Nell asks.

 

We hear a door buzzing.

 

"Someone just buzzed them in," Eric says.

 

"All right, stay here. Jones, with me," Granger says.

 

"Yeah," Nell says.

 

Granger and Nell walk out; we stare at the strangers’ entrance. A little while later Granger comes back.

 

"So, what's happening?" Sam asks.

 

"Full forensic audit of our operations and personnel. Bring up the gym feed," Granger says.

 

Nell and the visitors come into the gym.

 

"It's no coincidence this is happening while Hetty's in D.C.," Callen says.

 

"They pull her back to Washington so she's not here to stop them," I say.

 

"So, what are they looking for?" Deeks asks.

 

"Ammunition to bring down Hetty. They need a sacrificial lamb. Once they break her, they'll come after the rest of us and this whole operation," Granger says.

 

"So, what do we do?" Sam asks.

 

"Make yourselves scarce," Granger asks.

 

"We'll work out of the boathouse," I say.

 

"Keep your eye on these guys, Beale. Copy me on everything they're looking for, and don't make it easy," Granger says.

 

"We need to give Hetty a heads-up," I say.

 

"She dumped her phone. She was convinced it's tapped," Eric says.

 

"Let me handle that," Granger syas.

 

"We got a match. Our anonymous tipster is Douglas Fisher. He's got a lengthy criminal record," Eric says.

 

"It's about to get longer," Callen says.

 

Sam, G, Deeks and I leave the OPS.

 

Callen parks the Mercedes in front of a door with the sign “by appointment only”.

 

"Well, told you we should have called first," I say.

 

"Yeah," Callen says.

 

Callen knocks at the door. Fisher opens it.

 

"Oh, uh... we're not open," Fisher says.

 

"We just want a quote," Callen says.

 

"Yeah, call back later, make an appointment," Fisher says.

 

I show my badge.

 

"Gonna be easier just to let us in," I say.

 

"What's this about?" Fisher asks.

 

"You and a dead guy," Callen says.

 

"Okay. Uh, just not in front of my workers, all right? I-I'll be right out," Fisher says.

 

He closes the door.

 

"What are the chances he actually comes back out of there?" I ask.

 

"I'd say zero and none," Callen says.

 

"Hey, guys. I think he's coming your way," I say into a radio.

 

"We got him," Sam says.

 

"Fisher, open the door! You're only making it worse for yourself!" Callen yells.

 

The van crashes the door on our left and runs away; we shoot the tires. The van breaks a fire hydrant when it stops on the sideway; water gushes out.

 

"Doesn't he know we're in the middle of a drought?" I ask.

 

"Apparently not," Callen says.

 

Boatshed. Nell, Callen, and I. We’re watching footage from Bell’s surveillance camera. He’s strangled in his kitchen by a hooded man./

 

"That's our killer," I say.

 

"Guy slipped in through the doggie door, which is why he didn't trip the alarm," Nell says.

 

"We have any footage where we see his face?" Callen asks.

 

"No, he's wearing a mask," Nell says.

 

"Vehicle?" Callen asks.

 

"Not yet. I'm still checking traffic and neighbor cams. There is this, however," Nell says.

 

The killer takes a photo of the body.

 

"The hell's he doing? Posting it to Murdergram?" Callen asks.

 

"He e-mails it to someone," Nell says.

 

"Proof of death," I say.

 

"Murder for hire," Callen says.

 

"Can you get us the number or the e-mail he sent it to?" I ask.

 

"I can get a list of numbers that were active in the area's cell tower, but I have no way of accessing that specific phone number," Nell says.

 

Eric is rushing in.

 

"I think I found a motive. Where'd, uh, Sam and Deeks go?" Eric says/asks.

 

"They're dropping off Fisher at the LAPD. What do you have?" I say/ask.

 

"All right, Bell was investigating Chauvenet, the black market site which is operated by someone calling themselves, uh, Papa Legba," Eric says.

 

"Papa Legba…You know, in Haitian voodoo, Papa Legba is the gatekeeper at the crossroads between life and death," I say.

 

"Yeah. Well, I think Bell figured out Papa Legba's real identity," Eric says.

 

"So, why didn't he turn him in?" Callen asks.

 

"Blackmail. He wanted half a million dollars in Bitcoins to keep Papa Legba's identity a secret," Eric says.

 

"Okay. So, Chauvenet is a Dark Net Deep Web site that deals in billions of dollars of illegal goods and services that we can't shut down because we don't know who this Papa Legba guy is who runs it, in part because of the way they can hide using Tor," Nell says.

 

"And all that goes away if you find out Papa Legba's true identity," I say.

 

"Exactly. If you're Papa Legba and there's that much money at stake, not to mention jail time, you eliminate the threat," Callen says.

 

"All right, so who is he?" I ask.

 

"That, I don't know. I can't find anywhere where Bell actually puts it down in writing. I'm going through his files trying to piece it together from his research," Eric says.

 

"You can hire a hit man on Chauvenet's Web site?" I ask.

 

"Sure," Eric says.

 

"I'll give you even money--whoever killed Brian Bell was hired off Chauvenet," I say.

 

Callen nods.

 

"If you can get a list of those offering assassination services, I can run it against the numbers in the area when Bell was killed. We may get lucky, find some commonality," Nell says.

 

"What if Brian Bell wasn't killed? I mean, the killer left him for dead, but what if he survived?" Callen asks.

 

"Police are sitting on this for us," I say.

 

"We use the anonymity of the Web to reach out to Papa Legba as Brian Bell. Tell him his plan didn't work. We want a million dollars by the end of the day, or we send his name to the Feds," Callen says.

 

"Whoa. Won't they suspect it's a trap?" Eric says/asks.

 

"Not if we make it look believable. We send Papa Legba photos of Bell's wounds. We just have to make sure it looks like he's still alive," I say.

 

"You hire me to kill somebody and they survive the first attempt..." Callen says.

 

"Gotta come back and finish the job so you get paid," I say.

 

"Mmm. Satisfaction guaranteed," Nell says.

 

~Later~

 

Bell is wearing Deeks’ black shirt on a photo – he showed his wounded neck to the camera. Eric is typing on a keyboard in Bell’s office; I am with him.

 

"All right, I'm sending the photo to Papa Legba now, saying that I know he tried to have me killed, and for that, the price of his anonymity has gone up to a million dollars. And he's got three hours to deliver. Cool?" Eric says/asks.

 

"Send it," I say.

 

I am wearing a vest.

 

"Now what?" Eric asks.

 

"Now we wait," I say.

 

Callen comes in carrying a vest.

 

"Put this on," Callen says.

 

"Am I gonna need this?" Eric asks.

 

"Hopefully not," Callen says.

 

"It's for your own protection," I say.

 

"Should I have a gun?" Eric asks.

 

"Absolutely not," Callen says.

 

"That's for our protection," I say.

 

The computer beeps.

 

"That was fast. It's Papa Legba," Eric says.

 

"We got his attention," I say.

 

""Give me a couple hours to get the money. Half now, $50,000 a week for ten weeks to follow. Acceptable? Papa Legba."," Eric reads.

 

Eric had written: “Surprise. You need to hire better help. I survived, although I won’t get my voice back for awhile…”

 

"Say yes," I say.

 

"If we're gonna get company, it'll be within a couple hours," Callen says.

 

"All right, what should I do now?" Eric asks.

 

"Stay at this computer. And don't leave this room under any circumstance," I say.

 

"What if I have to pee?" Eric asks.

 

I empty pens out of a mug.

 

"What if there's a fire?" Eric asks.

 

"Then I suggest you fill it. Stay put," I say.

 

Eric “shoots” at me with a light-drill.

 

 

Doggie door: a hand slips in, then the second hand with a gun, then a chest – I aim at the guy.

 

"Bad doggie," I say.

 

The guy gasps and all of a sudden the door opens, dragging him (still half-through the doggie door) to crash into the bin. His head hurts…; I pick up the gun he has dropped.

 

"You clearly shouldn't have any pets," I say to Callen.

 

Boatshed. Interrogation room. Callen and I join the killer.

 

"Daniel Howard." It's an interesting résumé, man. "ROTC...National Guard, West Hollywood Sheriff's Department." For about eight seconds. Till you turned the evidence lockup into a personal pharmacy," Callen says.

 

"I don't know what you're talking..." Howard says.

 

"Talking about? That's what everybody says when they know exactly what we're talking about but they don't want to admit it," I say.

 

"Daniel, we've got footage of you murdering Brian Bell. Not to mention you going back to finish the job when you thought he survived," Callen says.

 

"They say criminals always return to the crime scene, but that's actually not true unless they're just... dumb," I say.

 

"Look, Daniel, you only got one play here. One play only. Tell us who hired you," Callen says.

 

"I don't know anything about a murder. I was only trying to rob the place," Howard says.

 

"With a silencer on your gun? Plus you took a picture of Brian Bell after you killed him, you e-mailed it to someone...on your phone," I ask/say.

 

I have the phone and the picture on it.

 

"We call that a "death dunk."," Callen says.

 

"Mm-hmm," I say.

 

"Death penalty slam dunk," Callen says.

 

Nell comes in.

 

"E-mails between Papa Legba and our Mr. Howard discussing the hit, the price, everything," Nell says.

 

"I don't know who he is. I swear. That's the whole purpose of Chauvenet. It's anonymous. I have no idea who Papa Legba is. Nobody does," Howard says.

 

"But the man you murdered did, which is why Papa Legba hired you to kill him," I say.

 

G, Nell, and I leave the interrogation room. Observation room.

 

"I don't think he knows Papa Legba's true identity," Sam says.

 

"Yeah? Then how did Brian Bell find it?" I ask.

 

"Well, he spent months searching. We've only been at it a couple days," Nell says.

 

"Guys, guys. I think I know who he is. Okay, Papa Legba created Chauvenet. And like any new product or service, you have to advertise so people can find you. So I started searching for the first mentions of it. Like similar sites, it starts out as rumors. So I chased down the first users to post or chat about it. Most were from e-mail addresses that were used once or twice but then never again. I figured out who they're registered to. And six belonged to one man. Behold Justin Stewart, aka...Papa Legba," Eric says.

 

"He looks like he works after school at Foot Locker!" I say.

 

"And, uh, here's the best part-- he leases a recycling facility in Los Angeles, but with no business license and no contracts," Eric says.

 

Deeks pinches Eric’s cheek before following the others out.

 

"Hmm. Boy genius," Deeks says.

 

 

A man is humming, pushing a grocery cart full of stuff – with a recording camera filming ahead. Deeks is wearing his homeless clothes. He rummages in a container.

 

"Mmm. Got a half a muffin in here," Deeks says.

 

 

"Where are we?" we hear Granger ask.

 

"Looks like he has at least one armed guard at a lobby security desk," Nell says.

 

"Sending you guys blueprints and a layout of the recycling center," Eric says.

 

Callen and I are in the Mercedes, on a side street.

 

"Thanks, Eric," Callen says.

 

"What about surveillance feeds?" I ask.

 

"Sorry. This guy is careful," Eric says.

 

"All right, finish your 360, Deeks, then we move," I say.

 

"Oh..." Deeks says.

 

He’s grumbling, pulling his trolley round a corner. He stops at the container.

 

"Got a, uh, guard out back smoking," Deeks says.

 

Sam is in his car, close to the facility entrance.

 

"Lot of security for a place recycling cereal boxes and soup cans," Sam says.

 

"Papa Legba's one careful guy. And there's probably gonna be more inside," Callen says.

 

"You ready, Gracie?" Sam asks.

 

"Let's do it," I say.

 

Sam and I go out front and he "attacks" me.

 

"Get your hands off of me!" I yell.

 

We are arguing.

 

"Get off me!" I yell.

 

"Get in the car!" Sam yells.

 

"I'm not going with you!" I yell.

 

"Get in the car!" Sam yells.

 

 

"No! Get..." I yell as Sam grabs my arm.

 

"Look, get in or I'm gonna drag you in! Get in the car!" Sam yells.

 

"Let, let go of me! Stop it! Stop!" I yell.

 

"Get-get in the car!" Sam yells.

 

"Is there a problem here?!" a guard asks coming out.

 

"Hey!" Sam yells.

 

"Get...Yes!" I say.

 

"Get in the car!" Sam says.

 

"He's trying to abduct me," I say in tears.

 

"Why don't you come inside, miss?" the guard asks.

 

"Get in the car!" Sam yells.

 

"No!" I yell.

 

"Get in your car and drive away, man," the guard says.

 

"Mind your business! This is a private matter," Sam says.

 

"Get in your car and drive away," the guard says.

 

He puts a hand on his gun.

 

"Pretty brave for a rent-a-cop," Sam says.

 

"Try me," the guard says.

 

Sam goes to the driver seat, the guard keeps his eyes on him and doesn’t notice me pulling out my weapon…He’s highly surprised - and gets it once he looks again at Sam- and his badge. He sighs.

 

"Put it down," I say.

  
Sam and I are in the building; we see men filling boxes with guns or electronic devices. we quietly close in on them. Sam counts 5 men.

 

"Federal agents! Everybody down!" Sam yells.

 

One of the men takes an automatic weapon and replies with gunfire, while the others run away. I shoot him.

 

"They're coming your way, G," I say.

 

A man erases files from a computer – Stewart is trying to format the hard drive but I am already opening the door; gun up. Stewart’s hand dives onto a weapon.

 

"Go for it. Save the taxpayers some money," I say.

 

"Papa Legba, I presume," Callen says.

 

He’s standing on Stewart’s left, aiming at him.

 

"I want to speak with my lawyer," Stewart says.

 

"I bet you do," Callen says.

 

I cuff “Papa Legba”.

 

NCIS office. G, Sam, Deeks and I are back. Granger is waiting for us.

 

"Safe?" I ask.

 

"For the time being," Granger says.

 

"Our unwanted friends from the Justice Department leave?" Sam asks.

 

"No. But they've only got a skeleton crew working during the night. They'll be back with a vengeance tomorrow, and I can only hold them off for so long. You guys did good today. Putting these guys out of business was big," Granger says.

 

Nell and Eric join us – they look worried.

 

"Well, Stewart's computer's proving to be a treasure trove of black market buyers and sellers here and abroad," Nell says.

 

"That's great," I say.

 

Nell sighs.

 

"So, what's wrong?" Callen asks.

 

"We're running standard protocol searches through the Chauvenet files. We got a hit on this," Eric says.

 

4 addresses pop up onto screen in a file named Angel 13 A– Eric highlights “1237 Hillcrest Ave, Encino CA 91316”.

 

"I recognize that address," I say.

 

Eric and Nell sigh.

 

"If you replace the number 13 in the file name with the word "thirteen," it becomes an anagram," Eric says

 

"That's why I recognize it," I say.

 

ANGEL THIRTEEN A = Henrietta Lange.

 

"It's Hetty's house," I say.

 

"What about the other addresses?" Callen asks.

 

"We're still checking," Nell says.

 

"The file was sold on Stewart's Chauvenet Web site," Eric says.

 

"Somebody paid $250,000 to find out where Hetty lives," Nell says.

 

Callen and I go to my house. It is a one bedroom townhouse. I fix us 2 glasses of wine.

 

"We need to talk about earlier," I say.

 

"I love you. My biggest regret was leaving you. I will break up with Jessica. I just want to be with you," he says.

 

"I love you too," I say.

 

I kiss him. We talk and laugh the rest of the night. The next day. I am going condo shopping. I am wearing a black hoodie, skinny jeans, and UGG boots. I go buy a condo. It has 3 bedrooms, 2 full bathrooms, 1 half bath, and a 2 car garage. I go home and pack all day. Over the next few days I move and unpack. Callen comes in while I am putting away my clothes.

 

"Hey," I say.

 

I fist his jacket and kiss him.

 

"Hey," he says hugging me.

 

I go back to unpacking.

 

"You know, you could have called me and I would have came to help," he says.

 

"I know," I say.

 

~5 years later~

 

Callen moved in with me and we are married.


End file.
